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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28326690">December 24th</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OberonsEarring/pseuds/OberonsEarring'>OberonsEarring</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>X-Men (Comicverse)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:41:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,830</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28326690</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OberonsEarring/pseuds/OberonsEarring</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's December 24th.  Logan knows where Scott is.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Logan (X-Men)/Scott Summers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Scogan Secret Santa 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>December 24th</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/comicfanperson/gifts">comicfanperson</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>December 24th</p><p> </p><p>Some years ago.  December 24th.  A month after the death of Jean Grey.</p><p>Scott Summers stands in the freezing cold, the flurry of winter flakes landing upon the broad shoulders of his brown wool jacket.  Red lenses stare down at a grave that seems so freshly dug.  The flowers that he had planted there gone to black and brown with the season's freeze.  Like them – absent of their bountiful colors and some attempt at beauty – he is dead inside, has been since her death.</p><p>Logan watches the man from the edge of the graveyard.  As much as he's tried to penetrate that steel-tough mind of his leader, he's been unable to.  Every act of kindness, placidity, greener pastures has been rebuffed time and again.  Summers has fallen into silence, and that silence has defeated all of them.</p><p>The graveyard is an ancestral one, hidden in one of the many winding gardens behind Xavier's mansion.  Now that the old man has gone to space, Scott is left as its heir, and thus the sole leader of the X-men.  </p><p>The marker for her grave is granite, carved round on the edges, her name engraved.  Moss will grow over it, should Cyclops let it.  Turn the gray stone into something that speaks of life, though not the life he wants.  </p><p>It's been an hour, and the tall, slender mutant hasn't moved.  He's so unlike the youth James first met, even though he's only a few years separated.  Barely 18, Scott's physique was still soft and unworn.  The few scars that tattered his milk skin were fewer, the callouses smoother.  The edge to his jaw holding less life and worry and burden and a die-hard need for grit and posture and distance.  He sent his team into mortal danger everyday.  Some of them died.  John Proudstar.  Jean Grey.  He couldn't afford friends, and to his heart's ultimate pain, he realized that he couldn't afford love either.</p><p>Logan's heart swells at the sight of him.  Though cold, his healing factor keeps his nose from turning red and his lips from chapping.  He still has circulation in his feet and hands.  But, Scott has none of that.  Indeed, without Jean, he has nothing but a team to lead and a dream to keep alive – a dream that  Logan often sees as hopeless.  </p><p>There's a moment in the back of his mind where he sees this broken man and all of his beauty.  His shattered soul, his bleeding heart.  He's not the stone that he pretends to be.  </p><p>The heart of James Howlett is not an empty thing.  His murderous tendencies often disguise the fact that he is indeed soft and sensitive and has enduring empathy for those around him.  In many ways, he is like Summers – providing an iron skin to those who cannot handle the full brunt of the world.  His heart reaches in that moment, finding himself immersed in the man who stands silently by Jean Grey's grave.  “I love you,” he says quietly, taking his first step forward. It's the first time in his entire life that he understands the meaning of truth.</p><p>Silence.</p><p>Thinking himself unheard, he once again gathers his confidence, walks quietly to Scott's side.  He places his warmer hand over long, slender fingers, and looks up into red lenses.  “I love you,” he repeats, the same quiet, nervous tone.</p><p>Another pause, a silence, and Logan watches as Scott walks away.</p><p>Every year, it's the same.  </p><p>December 24th.  Jean Grey's grave.  </p><p>Even when she returns to life, Scott still returns to that stone marker with winter-cold flowers over top.  The moss, he doesn't clear away.  He lets it grow and breathe and becoming something more akin to nature than his wife's predilection for returning from death.  </p><p>Sometimes Logan swears that he can see the silent prayers that move upon Summers' lips.  He grieves her still, though she lives.  He grieves more than that, Logan assumes.  The Summers' family has been little more than tragedy after tragedy.  The younger man has withstood more than even James himself, he often thinks.  While Logan's messed up memories survive decades and centuries, and though he's lost many throughout his time on Earth, his tragedies at least had time.  A few years here, a few there.  Twenty years spent on the road, picking fights in bars, and working side hustles as a trucker or a soldier, or whatever path he'd chosen to follow.  </p><p>He had years to love always knowing that it would end, if only because his lover would die before he did.  Rose, Itsu, Mariko, Jean.  He knew them in their youth, and loved them for the bright fire that they brought to his life – that serenity, that need and desire and all things that made him a good man.  He had others in between – fun little jaunts that saw him escaping into the docks of Madripoor and stealing a boat to get away from a scheme that saw he and his current lover cashing in on almost a million dollars.  A quick stay in Paris filled with wine and chocolate and cassoulet.  A cabin in the Ozarks – just a weekend, unintended, but impressive nonetheless.  For all of the tragedies he had faced in his centuries of life, he always had the joy, the wonder, the adventure to keep himself going.  </p><p>Scott does not have that luxury.  Not even twenty five, he's faced just as much ache as Logan, and even though his wedding is on the horizon and he is finally reunited with his long lost son, the years of ache and pain add up all too quickly.</p><p>If Summers notices his presence, or expects it, or wants it, Logan can't tell.  He takes the path anyway – that old familiar walk of nerves and hope and things he shouldn't be thinking.  He places his thick, calloused hands over Scott's cold ones, hoping to provide him with at least a little warmth.  “I love you,” he says, watching red lenses carefully for any sign of reaction.</p><p>Like every year before, there is a pause within the silence before Scott walks away.</p><p>There are years when Logan is frustrated.  Years he thinks about refusing to meet the man.  Years when he tries to prove himself a good match for the taller mutant.  He shares his wisdom, his time.  He lends his claws to the purpose and rescue of mutant kind.  He holds himself together outside of the privacy of his room, if only to provide Scott with something solid and reliable to grasp onto as he leads the mutant nation to the island of Utopia.</p><p>December 24th.  Jean has died again.  The marker for her grave is on the mansion grounds.</p><p>It's a custom to come here now.  Dead or alive, it's never mattered.  In some ways, Logan thinks the grave is more important than the woman herself, but if he were to really believe that, then he would be fooling himself.  </p><p>Scott has a tendency to punish himself, especially now that he's trying to keep the 198 alive.  Too many enemies, too much to handle, yet he does it without question.  He does not smile unless Emma drags him away for a few moments to 'relax'.  He stays up all night working through the myriad of necessities that an island needs.  He maps out missions and teams and guards and tech and everything else under the sun.  He's tense and grim and his thoughts go to dark places.  Places that Logan wishes he could protect the younger mutant from.  X-force.  Entrapment.  A million plans that just don't wash off the once fiercely moral leader of the X-men.</p><p>A baby was born just a few short weeks ago.  His mind has been consumed by it.  James doesn't blame him.</p><p>As always, Scott stands immovable against the winter winds, that are more drastic now that the mansion isn't there.  His hair is wet with ice and crystals, his cheeks red with cold.  He stands longer this year, too long.  Exasperated, Logan steps forward, in urgency this time.  The man he loves is falling deeper and deeper into places he shouldn't go, that he'll never recover from.  He can't lose him, not to this, not an island of 198 and the extinction of the mutant race.  There's still time to escape, to find a place far from humanity.  A place where it's just the two of them.  A little shack, a stream.  That's all they need.  They can figure out the rest when they get there.</p><p>He spins Scott around, tenders fingers over frozen cheekbones and bluing lips.  Scott's breath quickens and for a moment, Logan sees a tear roll down that reddened flesh, disappearing into the damp of the thick woolen coat.  It disappears and so does the sudden vulnerability that came with it.  “I love you,” Logan says, his voice more adamant and needful than quiet.  Scott swallows hard.  “Damn it.  Do you even hear me?  Have you ever heard me?”</p><p>A pause and Scott walks away.</p><p>December 24th.  Jean's grave.  Two years later.</p><p>Logan had left the island, taking with him many of the students.  He couldn't stand by and watch as the man he loved ripped himself to shreds to save his species.  So much guilt burdened Summers' broad shoulders, more than his fair share, but he was stubborn, willing to take the blame, do anything in his power to keep them intact.  </p><p>Logan's rage runs deep.  A volatile mixture of guilt and shame and hate and love that infects his very veins and makes it hard for him to sleep at night.  He wakes in a sweat, Scott's name upon his lips.  That dream of that tear, that need still so fresh in his mind.  He abandoned the man because there was no longer a way to save him.</p><p>Scott busted out of prison a month ago.  Has been running around the world saving mutants from riots and police and death.  Some, he brings to the school in the dead of night – the young ones, the most vulnerable of them.  Others, he takes to his own school – a place still secreted from the world – to train in Xavier's own philosophies.  Dead now, Charles remains a mark upon Scott's soul.  Just like Jean.</p><p>Outside in the dark, Logan can barely make out that form.  Tall, more musculature than that naive kid he'd met so long ago.  Hardened, tired, wary.  He stands at Jean's grave in silence and cold.  Logan's first thought is to chase him off with claws and guns and whatever else he can find.  Summers is no longer worthy of Jean and her memory, her love and warmth and fire that she brought to the world.  But as the hours pass, and wind whips up into bone-chilling ferocity, and the blizzard gets worse, he loses his will.  </p><p>He takes his time to put on his boots and clothes, grabs his coat from the hook, making sure to tell Bobby that he'll be right back.  Busy in the kitchen making treats for their holiday party, James doubts that he'll follow him outside or look out the window to see this most unwelcome site.  </p><p>Logan stands there for longer than he likes, letting Scott shiver through his own thoughts.  </p><p>He remembers how much he loves this man.  The way he's tried so hard to be a part of Summers' life, to break through those walls and give him respite.  Repeatedly denied – a decade worth of heartbreak – he thinks to let it all go once and for all, and standing there, he thinks he could.  Tell that icy heart that he doesn't mind getting vengeance for Xavier and Jean and Nathan – the three people he swore he loved more than anything – the three people that he heartlessly put to death.</p><p>Just as he is about to step forward, Scott falls to the ground, his arms wrapped around that moss-covered granite stone, knee deep in the dead flowers that lost their bloom months ago from lack of tending.  James hears the sob – a wretched, doomed thing that whispers out under the blizzard – and sees the man as he breaks himself into pieces once again.  </p><p>Quietly, so as not to disturb the beautiful anguish, he steps forward, his hands at his side.  He stands behind the younger mutant, listening to unintelligible words – too soft, too choked for understanding.  The ache overcomes the anger; the desire and need wells up over the rage.  A bursting heart, James places a warm hand on Scott's shoulder.  “I love you,” he says.  “Come back to me.”</p><p>There was no pause, just a start, a turn of lenses to look up at the older mutant.  Scott rises, tucks himself into his jet pack, and leaves.</p><p>December 24th.  Jean Grey's grave.  </p><p>The mansion is gone.  But, the marker is still in place, next to Xavier's and John Proudstar's.  No one thought to bury Scott here, leaving him on Genosha instead.  Logan thinks he should have been next to Jean, or at the very least in a place where visitors would come and remember him.</p><p>His best guess is that his months and months of waging war against the man had poisoned the world of mutants against their original freedom fighter.  One would say not to speak ill of the dead, but in the case of Scott Summers – as with anything throughout his short life – those words became part of his tragedy. </p><p>There was love for James when he returned to life.  They hunted him, searched for him, sought to give him a place where he was welcome.  When his memories returned, when his mission was over, he returned to them, and they celebrated.  He doubts that they would receive Scott with the same fervor, even though his actions had saved them all time and again.</p><p>Scott is not here to watch, but Storm has followed him and she watches instead.  “I miss her, too,” she says quietly, stepping forward to take his hand.  “I can ease the snow, if you like,” she offers, twisting her fingers to ease the storm overhead.</p><p>“I need some time.  Alone,” Logan answers politely, giving her a soft smile and watching as she walks away.</p><p>December 24th.  Krakoa.</p><p>Jean's grave was removed some time ago.  They all were in Sinister's attempt to assure Xavier that he had the correct DNA data to reproduce the correct body of the dead.  Then, the corpses were burned after a heated discussion about someone replicating the Five's powers and Krakoan technology to make a mutant army of their own.</p><p>The year has been a hectic one – the birth of the mutant nation known as Krakoa.  So many plans and pillars were put into place so quickly that few had time to breathe.  Mutants flooded the place in the earliest days looking for safety from the humans and governments and things outside that wanted to kill them.  Not all had come, but enough that the place felt full and lively.  It reminds Logan of Utopia in far too many ways.</p><p>With Hanukkah passed, Kitty helps Jean and Jubilee set up decorations for Christmas.  While Bobby keeps the kids occupied with an ice skating rink – as he's done all month – there is time for a little bit of fun and joviality.  Eggnog is served cold, toddies are served hot.  Emma has Saucier preparing their second feast of the month while those from the Green Lagoon help him create the spectacular array of dishes.  Overhead, Storm sifts the beauty of a crystalline winter from overhead, laying a soft layer of snow over the trees and grass.  Gone is the autumn carpet that Krakoa wore with pride, but now he glitters like the stars in the heavens.</p><p>The blue and white lights of Hanukkah are replaced with the multi-colored bulbs of Christmas.  Stars and lights and pretty glass ornaments.  Doug says that Krakoa feels beautiful, and so does every one else.</p><p>As Logan wanders through the crowds and merriment, his heart is too restless to enjoy himself.  “Here, have a glass.”  Jean gives him a bright smile and a cold glass of nog.  “Don't worry, I didn't make it.  Anole did.”</p><p>A few months ago, Warren had moved into the Summer House on the moon.  His belongings were few, now using his money to fund certain trade deals that would benefit Krakoa, and a few luxurious things such as good bourbon for Logan and Big Carnation designs for Jean.  Scott asked for nothing, but no one thought he would.</p><p>Angel was good with the kids, and after a month Jean moved into Warren's quarters, leaving a space between Scott and Logan.  One night, James had heard them talking in the kitchen some time after the children had gone to bed.  Summers had fully expected Jean to choose Logan.  </p><p>Jean and Logan had their round, however.  A couple of months in each others' arms.  In her words, the passion just wasn't there.  For either of them.  Whatever they had had so long ago had fizzled, and her thoughts were consumed by the beautiful man with angel wings.  “I love him, Scott,” she'd said.</p><p>“I'm glad,” he replied before showing himself off to bed.</p><p>Logan remembers the look on his face as he turned the corner.  It wasn't just jealousy, anger, or regret.  It was grief.  The same look he carried with him on those cold December days, with his jaw so rigid and his fists clenched.  It was a look he could never figure out, but it made James' heart break.</p><p>“Sometimes, words aren't enough,” Jean tells him, wrapping her elegant arms around him.  “Sometimes people need something else.”</p><p>Her words unsettle him even more.</p><p>He hears the songs of the holidays as he approaches Kurt's home.  Dani and Sam and the whole Guthrie clan.  Even Hank and Sage have come out of their hiding places to watch the nativity play that the Elf has directed.  Feeling overwhelmed, he eschews his normal confidant in search of something quiet and alone.</p><p>At the edge of island, that old familiar figure stands looking out over the waves.  Head bowed, the glint of snow on his shoulders, he stares down at the lapping ocean, more solitary than he's ever looked before.  </p><p>Logan can't help but watch.  His mind digging deep for reason and logic - and something other than the wellspring of ache that rattles up through his bones - he can't seem to move forward.  So many words on the tip of his tongue, but nothing sounding quite right.</p><p>He'd felt the sting of that refusal for years.  He knew the look of Summers' back and that neatly kept woolen coat better than he knew his own hands.  Everything in his mind tells him that this won't change.  That if he offers his love, Scott will simply walk away, leaving him smoldering in his loneliness on what should be a magical day.  </p><p>But, his heart.  It speaks to so much more than fear.  It regards the silent figure, his wet boots and damp chestnut hair.  The way he holds himself as if in prayer, with his hands at his sides, and his shoulders slumped in defeat.  It's his heart that drives James a step forward.</p><p>And then another.  And another.</p><p>He places his hand over top of Scott's, the younger mutant's skin chilled with 'Ro's display.  “I love you,” he says quietly, feeling the weight of regret almost instantly.</p><p>Scott pauses, a glance at the older mutant, a sense of hesitation.  He waits for just a second longer than he should before he starts to walk away.  Something inside of Logan snaps.  He reaches out, grabs the man's wrist, and pulls him back into the place.  The sudden change in their routine startles the younger mutant.  “I love you,” Logan says again, studying the face behind red lenses.  Touching that flushed cheekbone, smoothing his fingers over a cascading tear, he takes his time to look.  To really look.  Not in regret, not in loss, but in trying to understand the man before him.</p><p>All James can see is mourning.</p><p>He pulls the young mutant against his shoulder, forces him to bend his knees so that he can hold him close to the warmth of his heated blood.  There is no fight in the other mutant.  His hands don't push; he does not bite or kick or pull at hair and clothing.  He just collapses onto Logan's shoulders, his years of misery losing its echo to the waves.</p><p>James hold him tighter, around his shoulder, the back of his head.  He whispers soothing words into cold-reddened ear.  Lets him cry until there are no more tears to be shed at this time, and then Summers goes quiet.  He folds his hands into Logan's jacket, lets himself be petted and eased.</p><p>“Slim?”  </p><p>As red lenses dare to face him again, James understands the weight of what has happened.  </p><p>Scott Summers is not a man who trusts words as too many promises have been broken.  By others.  By himself.  The love that he was promised as a child by his parents, his family, was lost to him.  Jean, Xavier – they, too, were lost to him too many times, leaving him alone and fending for his sanity midst the increasing amount of dangers that the world continued to present.</p><p>His life revolved around teams, and they were never static.  Always someone leaving, and someone new coming in.  There was no one to rely on and no relief from the pressures of his goals.</p><p>Scott Summers didn't think he was worth loving.  If he was, then why had the universe taken it away from him?</p><p>“I've got you,” Logan says quietly.  Tousling his fingers through dark, damp hair. He hums a tune he knew as a child.  He can't remember the words, but he can remember the peace it gave him on those nights when the world seemed darkest.  “I've got you,” he says again when Scott stops shivering and takes a deep breath.  “I love you.”</p><p>Scott pulls back, his face so much more fragile than Logan's ever seen.  “Why?  After everything I've done... After all those times--”</p><p>“Slim, you're the most stubborn man I've ever met.  Don't question what I'm offering.  Just accept it.  I love you, that's all that you need to know.”</p><p>The kiss is gentle.  A sweep lips and nothing more.  Scott waits for rejection, and is relieved when he does not get it.  Logan pulls him into something stronger.  Still tender, but not shy.  It feels right.  Like this is where they should have been so long ago.  </p><p>“I love you, too,” Scott swifts into the air.  His laugh is faint, but the grief starts to fade.  “Maybe we should go somewhere warmer?  Maybe talk a little?”</p><p>“Sounds good to me.”  Logan jumps to his feet, pulling Scott along with him.  “And, Slim?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Merry Christmas.”</p><p>“Thank you.  For finally letting me believe.”</p><p>“Yeah.  You too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Merry Christmas to comicfanperson, the Scogan server, and everyone else.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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